


Blue

by orphan_account, PhryneFicathon



Series: Making Do [7]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Phryne faces a decision involving her niece Lillian. My entry for the Phryne Ficathon.





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allimarie_xf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/gifts).



> This fic is part of the "Making Do" series. Lillian Stanley is introduced in the story ["Incognito"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11265975/chapters/25190892).
> 
> From this image prompt: 

**Melbourne, 1936**

“Far away. Far away.” Lillian’s voice sung out playfully as she guided her toy sailboat through the shallow creek in a wooded section of the Melbourne Botanic Gardens. 

Phryne watched from a respectful distance on the path, close enough to prevent any real danger to her six-year-old niece, but far enough away to remain pleasantly disengaged from the intricacies of the girl’s chatter, which seemed to involve narrating daring adventures for the imaginary characters that resided on the boat. Lillian’s imaginative world deserved its own breathing room, Phryne felt, as did her own. It was not an unpleasant way to spend the afternoon. 

“Aunt P,” Lillian called out, “I want to play boats _in_ the creek.”

Lillian had removed one Mary Jane and was dipping a white stockinged toe into the water by the time Phryne was close enough to place a protective hand on her shoulder.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, darling,” Phryne said, guiding her back gently from the edge. “But your father expects us back quite soon. He’d like you stay dry.”

“Not Father,” Lillian answered matter-of-factly. “Marguerite.”

 _Fair enough_ , Phryne thought to herself. Guy’s soon-to-be new wife, Marguerite de la Haye, cared more about how her future step-daughter looked and behaved than about the girl herself. Lillian was observant enough to have noticed. Phryne had no great love for children in general, but love for this particular motherless child in this difficult circumstance was not hard to come by.

“Where’s your boat?” Phryne chirped, attempting distraction. “Does she have pirates?”

“Pirates,” Lillian echoed, now prodding the boat with a long stick, maneuvering it free from where it had run aground in the soft mud and sending it soaring into the main channel. 

“Pirate girls,” Phryne said, her tone shading in an instant from bright and carefree to something altogether different. Lillian’s blonde pigtails, tied neatly with blue ribbon, shone brightly in the late afternoon sun as she chased her boat down the creek.

* * *

Several hours later, Phryne dozed in a lounge chair alongside Aunt Prudence’s pool – or more accurately, the pool at the Stanley estate. Still, Phryne had difficulty thinking of it as anything but Aunt Prudence’s home, even several years after her passing. 

Lillian’s toy sailboat bobbed pleasantly in the deep end, its imaginary inhabitants not presently requiring attention -- a welcome turn of events, as Lillian was inside, being fed and bathed and sent to bed by a competent but stern nanny.

Phryne roused as she heard Jack’s voice calling for her from the main house.

“Out here, Jack,” she answered, gazing over her the top of her sunglasses at her husband as he strode into view, every bit as handsome as the day they first met. “Guy’s delayed again. I’ve got Bert and Cec out checking the usual watering holes.”

“Imagine that,” he replied drily, taking the chair next to hers in one smooth motion after kissing her hello. “The solicitor is still waiting inside.”

“Going on three hours now, by my count,” Phryne replied in kind. “Likely with a full bottle of sherry under his belt.”

“Not that Guy would notice,” Jack said.

“I could sign the power of attorney,” she stated. “And we could wash our hands of this and go home.”

“You could,” Jack said plainly, “If you trusted Guy at all.”

Jack knew from Phryne’s tone that she didn’t mean the words literally – that they were a wish to be free of the problem, and therefore its responsibility. Jack’s role in the conversation was to shore up her resolve. He played it well.

“Prudence left you in charge of Lillian’s share for a reason,” he continued. “You owe it her to see it through.”

“I do,” Phryne said quietly, taking his hand in hers and looking out upon the placid water of the pool. The sale of the estate was Guy’s last bit of business in Australia. They were lucky to have a buyer at all.

Jack spied Lillian’s boat as it floated near the diving board. He let Phryne’s hand fall from his, then walked to the edge of the pool to rescue Lillian’s boat, and place it gently upon the tiles. 

“How was her afternoon,” he asked.

“She misses her mother,” Phryne replied. “She’d rather not have a new one.”

“Lillian could stay with us for a time, Phryne.” His tone was tentative. He didn’t dare make eye contact and reveal the depth of his own desire. “We could ask Guy to let her stay with us while he and Marguerite have their honeymoon. Then bring her back to them in England next summer.”

“I’m not sure it’s right to take her from her father,” she said evenly.

“I’m not sure it’s right to leave her with her father,” he replied. “Not now. Not like this.”

Phryne got up from her lounge chair and for a time, simply stood in place, not knowing what to do or say. After a time, she stooped to pick up Lillian’s toy, then paced to the other end of the pool. The boat was weighty in her hands. Substantial.

Jack remained steady in place. Silent. Waiting.

Phryne leaned over the shallow end of the pool and set the boat afloat again upon the still water. 

There was a sudden flash of memory as the little boat sailed free. She caught Jack’s eye and held his gaze across the distance, across the trouble, across the years. A wordless glimmer of recognition. For a moment, she thought, they both flashed back together to the same memory and emotion. 

* * *

**Melbourne, 1929**

“ _Making do_ ,” Phryne thought with a smile. Such a typically understated way for them to speak of the significance of the moment that had transpired hours before.

Jack was here, now, sleeping in her bed, in her arms, where he belonged. The half-empty bottle of red wine on a small table near the open window.

They had opened the bottle downstairs, cocooned in the parlor, avoiding the intrusion that would come with Mr. Butler’s assistance. Jack had poured two glasses. They’d locked eyes, facing one another in front of the mantel as they’d done so many nights before, and raised their glasses together for a toast.

“What are we drinking to?” she’d asked.

“Love,” he answered, his voice warm and sure.

“Unthwarted, I hope,” she’d responded.

He’d put his glass down, eyes never leaving hers, and placed a hand on her waist to pull her close.

“Yes. Finally.”

“Upstairs,” had been the only other word spoken. The rest had been communicated in touch, in looks, in sensation – all expressing a depth of love that words couldn’t hope to match. 

Now Phryne nuzzled against Jack’s back, trailing kisses from his neck to his shoulders, hands encircling, caressing, until he awoke, responded and turned to her again. This second joining urgent, powerful and somehow more significant than the first.

Afterwards, in the perfect stillness as they held each other, Jack asked what she was thinking.

“Honestly?” she asked with a laugh.

“What else.”

“It’s not even a thought, really,” she began. “It’s an image. A sailboat far away from shore on a gorgeous summer afternoon.”

“Am I there with you?”

A kiss answered one aspect of that question, then Phryne continued. “This sailboat is a memory. One rare Sunday of extended family togetherness after Janey. I’m on a dock with Mother, Aunt P, Arthur, watching as Guy and Uncle Edward sail away, perfectly free.”

“You weren’t allowed to go along?”

“Not at first, no.”

“I can’t imagine that sat well with you.”

“It didn’t. I watched the boat for what felt like ages. Dreaming. Longing.” 

He pulled her closer, closing his eyes to better hear her voice and somehow enter the memory with her. She didn’t describe the boat’s white sails, or the sun shimmering on blue water, but he felt he could see it anyway.

“Then what?” he whispered.

“The boat reached the horizon line and I expected it to sail out of sight. I was a clever child, and I knew my family well. It was fully what I expected.” 

Jack saw this too – the young girl she once was, preparing sensibly to move on as soon as the boat disappeared from view. Turning to take Arthur’s hand, perhaps, and head into the shade.

“But then,” she continued. “Everything shifted. They came back for me. Uncle Edward pulled the boat near the dock without tying up, and Guy extended his hand for me to climb aboard. ‘Come along Phrynekins. Come for the ride.’”

Phryne turned in Jack’s arms, now lying fully atop him and kissing him deeply. “It was joyous, Jack. Unexpected and joyous and free.”

He kissed her back, aiming to match her joy with his passion. “Did you ever learn what led them to change course?” he asked when they paused.

“Never,” she said. “It didn’t matter. I just grabbed hold.”

Another quick kiss and she lay her head on his broad shoulder, settling once again into his embrace. Jack pulled the bedclothes tight around them, watching as moonlight shimmered bright patches of light across the deep expanse of the doona.

* * *

**Melbourne, 1947**

“Is it ours?” Lillian asked, stepping from the greying wood of the dock to the gleaming deck of a 40-foot sailing yacht.

“It is for the weekend,” Phryne answered, following her niece aboard. “Uncle Jack will join us as soon as he picks up your father.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Lillian beamed, poking her head into the wheelhouse where the captain and first mate readied their charts, then joined Phryne at the aft deck. 

“Happy Birthday, Darling,” Phryne enthused. She busied herself opening a bottle of champagne, pouring a glass for them both. “What are we drinking to?”

“Love,” Lillian answered. “I know you hate unvarnished sentiment Aunt P, but I’m allowed a little on my birthday. I have a speech.”

“By all means then, Darling. Proceed.” Phryne laughed, knowing that her niece caught the playfulness in her tone.

Lillian stood straight, raising her champagne glass out towards Phryne and holding her gaze sincerely. “For eighteen years, I’ve known without doubt that you and Uncle Jack love me exactly as I am. Despite some terrible times for me personally and for so many around the world, you’ve been a constant source of joy and adventure. Thank you.”

Phryne felt a tear form, then looked away before she lost all semblance of self-control. She pulled Lillian into an embrace and looked out across the calm waters of Port Phillip Bay, sun shimmering on the blue surface. Sailboats bobbed at the horizon line in the distance, unexpected, joyous, and free.


End file.
